


Sunder [alternate 1]

by Tamagoakura (orphan_account)



Series: The Gore Collection [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gun Violence, No Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tamagoakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate version of the death scene in Sunder chapter 2 in which Alfred kills Feliciano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunder [alternate 1]

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sunder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331593) by [Tamagoakura (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tamagoakura). 



A hard slap to the cheek pulled Feliciano to conciseness and he groaned at the searing pain in the back of his head. He was lying on the floor of what appeared in the dim light that flooded in the window from the motel next door to be a living room with Alfred squatting before him with an inquisitive look in his eyes. His brown eyes rolled and shut again before the reality of his situation sunk in and sent his lids flying open in fear. Alfred licked his lips at the expression and his smile grew into more of a grin.

Feliciano shrieked in fear and tried to climb to his feet only to stumble a bit and fall to the ground, the pain in the back of his head making the world around him tilt and blur as wave after wave of nausea rolled over him. He breathed heavily for a moment, swallowing thickly to keep himself from vomiting, before he asked about his brother.

“Not sure about him, my brother’s got him in the other room. Just between you and me, he got the real short end of the stick, Mattie can be such a freak sometimes.” He felt the glow of excitement grow inside himself as Feliciano’s eyes grew wide at the news of his brother’s suspected ill fate. Finally finding the strength, he lifted himself from the floor and dashed over to the door to yank at it uselessly, panic growing with each failed attempt to free himself.

Alfred slowly rose to standing and pulled his stolen Smith and Wesson from the waist of his dark slacks to point it at the terrified man and cock it loudly. Feliciano immediately froze at the noise and turned his head slowly to confirm his fear. His eyes swam with tears as he swallowed slowly and turned around to face him.

“Door’s locked.” Alfred said, lifting the tarnished silver key up for him to see and shaking it slightly. “Now how about you beg me not to shoot you?”

Fat tears began to slip down Feliciano’s red cheeks as he braced himself against the door and stared at the gun, transfixed for a moment, then threw himself to the floor. “I- I’m sorry for whatever I said or did, I give up, just please don’t kill me or Lovino!”

Alfred blinked, shocked by the immediate surrender. People normally tried a little harder not to be reduced to such a state, but here this man was sniveling loudly on the floor and begging for mercy on himself and his brother. He just shrugged and pulled his video camera from his pocket and flipped it ‘on’, then aimed it at the man. He remembered a conversation he had once held with his friend Ludwig from the smut shop, not long after they started their ‘agreement’.

‘You can’t just ignore the camera, Alfred.’ He had said, sitting before his small television in the back of the shop with his chin resting in his hand, “You’re not just killing a guy anymore, you’re entertaining an audience. Think of it like the MMA; if you just knock the guy flat in the first round, you’re going to leave the audience unsatisfied, right?’

‘Well, that is a pretty big let-down.’ Alfred had agreed with a slight nod.

‘Exactly,’ he motioned to the screen with his free hand, ‘now look at this: You pop up here, hit the guy so he’s down, then within maybe three swings he’s already dead. That may have been fun for you, but it isn’t going to be for the viewer. Play it up a little bit, make it last, and these will sell like hot-cakes. Keep going down the road you’re on and you’ll find yourself in the figurative five-dollar bin faster than you can blink.’

“Look at me.” Alfred said, zooming the camera in to focus on Feliciano’s brown hair. Slowly he lifted his head to stare into the lens in confusion.

“…TV show?” He asked, hope lacing his words.

“Kind of, now beg me not to kill you and do it looking right here.” Alfred said, tapping the camera lens with his middle finger.

Feliciano just stared at him, struck dumb at the absurdity of the request. Alfred sighed heavily and took a step toward him to press the barrel of the gun firmly against his forehead, “Beg me or I’ll shoot you right now.”

“P-please d-don’t kill me….” He sobbed, looking into the camera for a moment before turning his eyes to meet Alfred’s. “Do you want money? I don’t have much now, but my brother’s pretty important and he can get you lots of cash.”

“You want money?” Alfred mocked, turning his lips to an over-played and trembling frown. He burst into a fit of laughter at his own cruelty and pulled the gun away. “How about this, we play a friendly little game of ‘Simon Says’ and if you win, I’ll let you go? But if you lose…” He stood and took a few steps away, “I get to shoot you.”

Feliciano seemed to think the prospect over for a moment before he nodded apprehensively. Alfred told him to stand and he slowly lifted himself from the floor.

“I didn’t say ‘Simon Says’.” The fiery crack of gunfire filled the room and the brown-haired man’s left knee exploded into a mess of eradicated flesh, cartilage, and fragmented bone to send him sprawling back to the hard floor with a wretched shriek of agony. “Now, stand up.”

He shook his head ‘no’ as he lay hunched on the floor in a growing pool of slick blood, weeping freely at the pain that seared him leg so mercilessly. Alfred grinned evilly as he aimed the gun at the wounded man once again. “Simon says ‘get up’.”

He shook his head ‘no’ once again, his cries having calmed to more of a shaky whine as what was left of his knee began to go numb and his stomach lurched once more.

“Simon says ‘get up’ or he’ll fucking shoot you again.” Feliciano’s breath caught in his throat for a moment at the thought before he began to slowly force himself up from the floor, yelping in pain as he tried and failed to balance all of his weight on his good leg.

“You’re a quick learner, Feli. You mind if I call you ‘Feli’? Whatever, I’m calling you that.” He tapped the gun against his chin as he thought, “Simon says… 'spin in a circle'.”

Feliciano took a moment to work out he was going to manage something like that before he braced himself against the sturdy wooden door and slowly hopped in a circle, wincing each time the landing jarred his wound. By the time he had complete a full three-hundred and sixty degree turn he was gasping for breath past the sickening throbbing that resonated from his ruined knee. 

“Simon says hop up and down three times.”

“P-please just let me go, Chris. My brother’s got some pretty strong ties to important and dangerous people, and when they find out what you did-”

“Simon didn’t say anything about talking, Feli.”

His words died on his lips at the stern look the blonde was giving him. He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to ready himself for the impending agony before he forced himself to hop once, twice, then double over and expel a full night’s work of alcohol and pasta hunks onto the floor with a loud and pained-sounding retch.

Alfred grimaced at the kaleidoscope of color that lay splattered on the floor and dripped from Feliciano’s plump, heaving lips that shined in the dim light. “Gross. That’s gross, Feli.” He walked further into the room and beckoned him closer, “Simon says to come over here so I don’t have to keep looking at that.”

He nodded slightly and hobbled after his tormenter, still shaking, coughing, and dry-heaving as his body stressed it’s ‘flight’ response to no avail. He wished that he could tell his anatomy to shut up, because the strong nausea was doing nothing for his predicament beyond making a horrible situation that much worse. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest and everything sounded as if it were playing from broken speakers as he finally managed to force his screaming muscles to carry him to the center of the room. The soft light that spilled in from the window reflected beautifully from the his sundered kneecap, dancing across the red and pink of exposed flesh. The prospect of sepsis crept through his mind.

“Now smile and say ‘please, sir, may I have another’.” Feliciano shook his head ‘no’, swaying from side to side from his place on the blood speckled carpet.

Alfred rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh, “You’re too good at this, man. Simon says ‘say please sir may I have another’.”

“…Please sir… May I have… Another?” Another bullet crashing through his right knee sent him slamming to the floor with a long string of what were probably curses in another language. He bellowed and swore at the pain, his hands balling into tight fists against the ratty carpeting as a new well of tears broke and flew freely down his face. “I did what you said! Why would you shoot me?!”

Alfred shrugged innocently, “You asked.”

Feliciano’s eyes widened at the logic, the coldest and most consuming terror he had ever experienced radiating from his bones and through the entirety of his form to pool dangerously in his lowest mind. The certainty of his demise, the absolute promise of a miserable death at the hands of the blue-eyed man burned in every fiber of his being. Without even realizing it he began to scream as loudly as his throat allowed, louder than he thought possible, begging anyone within ear-shot to come to his aid.

Alfred lifted his hands disarmingly, and looked around himself in fear, “Dude, dude, shut up! Seriously, someone’s gonna hear you!” He yelped, hurrying over to him to push him onto his back and clamp his hand over his mouth. He rammed the barrel between the panicked man’s eyes harder than was probably necessary and gave him an icy glare.

“One more stunt like that and I swear to everything I’ll drag you over to the other room and make you watch whatever the hell it is Mattie’s doing to your brother, and god damn it all, it’ll be _fucking horrible_!” The last words roared out of him so fanatically that Feliciano’s voice fell apart into broken sobs almost instantly.

“You know what?” Alfred stood up again, grimacing down at the now silent man, “You’re no fun anyhow. I guess I’ll just have to cut this short and go chill at Denny’s until Mattie’s done.” He lifted the gun and aimed directly for Feliciano’s head.

“No…” The plea was little more than a warbling squeak.

“How scared are you right now, tell me. And don’t worry, we’re not playing Simon anymore.”

“I-I’m scared.”

“Terrified?”

He nodded weakly from his position on the floor, his face pale from fear and loss of blood.

“Would it make you happy if I told you I wasn’t gonna shoot you anymore?”

He nodded.

“Well I’m not gonna shoot you anymore.” Alfred promised, walking over to an old and broken dresser to set the video camera down and aim it at where Feliciano was lying. He set the gun beside it and from the space between the dresser and the wall extracted his favorite bat. He sauntered over to the bleeding man and raised the bat above his head, “The viewers love it when I do it a little more hands-on, ya know?”

The rush of the weapon arcing swiftly through the air, coupled with the wet crackling of shattering skull was almost euphoric. The importance of the slightly painful vibrations that ran through his hands with every rough slam paled in comparison to the absolute ecstasy that shuddered his entire frame as Feliciano’s face grew to resemble the bloodied mess that was road kill more and more with every swing.

 

* * *

 

Some thirty minutes later, Matthew walked into the nearly deserted restaurant and smiled at his brother, who was in the process of sucking down his third milkshake in a row. He slid into the seat across from him with a little squeak from the cheaply upholstered seat, “How did it go on your end?”

“He made a lot f noise so I had to cut short. You?”

“It was perfect.”


End file.
